Rebel Angels

by Libba Bray

  I should be flattered. And I am, in a small way. But I cannot shake the feeling that in order to be loved by Simon and his family, I shall have to be a very different sort of girl and that if they knew me—truly knew me—they would not welcome me so warmly.

  “What if you were to be disappointed in me?”

  “I could never be disappointed in you.”

  “But what if you discovered something . . . surprising about me?”

  Simon nods. "I know what it is, Miss Doyle.”

  “You do?” I whisper.

  “Yes,” he says in earnest. “You have a hump on your back that only appears after midnight. I shall take your secret to the grave.”

  “Yes, that is it,” I say, smiling, blinking hard at the tears that sting my eyes.

  “You see? I know everything about you,” Simon says. “Now get some rest. I shall see you tomorrow.”

  I hear them in the parlor gossiping. I hear them because I am on the stair, soft as starlight. And then I am out the door, quiet as can be, and off to the Worthingtons’ house to warn them. And after, I shall find Miss McCleethy, and she will answer for Miss Moore, my mother, Nell Hawkins, and the others. For this purpose, I tuck the blade Kartik left me into my boot.

  Felicity’s butler opens the door and I push my way inside, past his protests.

  “Felicity!” I call out, not caring about manners or protocol. "Ann!”

  “In here!” Felicity answers from the library.

  I barrel my way in with the butler on my heels. "Miss Doyle to see you, miss,” he says, determined to return some sense of decorum to the proceedings.

  “Thank you, Shames. That will be all,” Felicity says. “What is it?” she asks, when we are alone. "Is it something about Miss Moore? Have you found a way to get her back?”

  I shake my head. “We’re found out. Lady Denby has made inquiries. She’s found your cousin, Ann. She knows we’ve been masquerading all this time.” I sink into a chair. I am so very tired.

  “Then everyone will know. You may be sure of that,” Felicity says, looking truly terrified.

  Ann pales. "I thought you said no one would be the wiser!”

  “I hadn’t counted on Lady Denby and her hatred of my mother.”

  Ann sits, trembling. “I’m ruined. And we shall never be allowed to see one another again.”

  Felicity’s hand is a fist at her stomach. “Papa shall have my head.”

  “It was your idea,” Ann says, pointing a finger at Felicity.

  “You were only too happy to play along!”

  “Please stop,” I say. “We have to keep Lady Denby from telling what she knows.”

  “No one can keep her from that,” Felicity says. “She is a very determined woman. And this is the sort of gossip that she lives for.”

  “We could come up with another story,” Ann says, pacing.

  “How long before she makes inquiries on that one as well?” I say.

  Ann sits on the settee, lays her head on her arm, and cries.

  “We could use the magic,” Felicity says.

  “No,” I say.

  Felicity’s eyes flash. "Why not?”

  “Have you forgotten last night? We shall need every bit of magic to find the Temple and face Circe.”

  “Circe!” Felicity spits. “Pippa was right. You only look after yourself.”

  “That isn’t true,” I say.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Please, Gemma,” Ann blubbers.

  “You’ve seen how the magic takes its toll upon me,” I say. "I’m not myself today. And Nell Hawkins has fallen into a trance. Just last night I dreamed she’d been found by Circe.”

  Felicity’s butler enters. “Is everything all right, Miss Worthington?”

  “Yes, Shames. Thank you.”

  He leaves, but he does not take our anger with him. It hangs about the room in wounded looks and a hostile quiet. My head aches.

  “Do you think it’s true? Do you think Circe really has taken hold of Nell Hawkins?” Ann asks through her tears.

  “Yes,” I say. “So you see it is imperative that we go into the realms again tonight. Once we find the Temple and bind the magic, you may use it to make them think you are Queen Victoria herself if you wish. But first we find the Temple.” And Circe.

  Felicity exhales loudly. “Thank you, Gemma. I can keep Mother occupied and away from Lady Denby’s clutches until tomorrow. Ann, you are about to become very ill.”

  “I am?”

  “No one would dare to speak badly of an invalid,” she explains. "Now, faint.”

  “But what if they can tell that I am pretending?”

  “Ann, it is not terribly difficult to faint. Women do it all the time. You simply fall to the floor, close your eyes, and don’t speak.”

  “Yes,” Ann says. “Should I fall to the floor or here on the couch?”

  “Oh, honestly, it doesn’t matter! Just faint!”

  Ann nods. With the finesse of a born actress she rolls her eyes back and crumples to the floor dramatically, like a soufflé falling in on itself. It is the most graceful fainting spell I’ve ever seen. It is a pity it has been wasted on us.

  “Tonight,” Felicity says, taking my hands.

  “Tonight,” I agree.

  We push through the parlor doors as frantically as we can. “Shames! Shames!” Felicity calls.

  The tall, icy butler appears. "Yes, miss?”

  “Shames, Miss Bradshaw has fainted! I fear she has taken ill. We must call for Mother at once.”

  Even the placid Shames is disturbed. "Yes, miss. Right away.”

  As the house erupts into an excited frenzy—for everyone, it seems, loves the potential for disaster, a break in the numbing routine—I take my leave. I must admit that I find a savage delight in rehearsing what I will say to Grandmama about this visit. “. . . and then Miss Bradshaw’s kind, gentle spirit was so injured by these false accusations that she took ill and fainted. . . .”

  Yes, that will be a most satisfactory moment. If only I weren’t so very tired.

  Dusk has settled over London along with a bit of sleet. It’s a raw evening, and I shall be glad to sit at my fire. I wonder what has happened to Miss Moore, if there is anything I can do to save her from her terrible fate. I wonder if I shall ever see Kartik again or if he has been absorbed into the shadows of the Rakshana.

  Jackson’s waiting patiently at the curb. That can only mean they’ve discovered me gone and come to the logical conclusion. I’m in for as much trouble as Felicity and Ann now. Most likely, Tom sits inside the carriage fuming.

  “Evenin’, miss. Your grandmother was very worried about you,” Jackson says, opening the carriage door for me. He takes my hand to help me up and in.

  “Thank you, Jack—” I freeze. It is not Tom or Grandmama waiting for me. Sitting in my carriage is Miss McCleethy. She is joined by Fowlson from the Rakshana.

  “Get in, if you please, miss,” Jackson says, exerting pressure on my back.

  I open my mouth to scream. His hand presses hard against me, trapping the sound in my throat. “Oi know where your family lives. Fink on your poor dad, lyin’ in the sickroom, all vulnerable like.”

  “Jackson,” Miss McCleethy calls. "That will be enough.”

  Reluctantly, Jackson lets go. He closes the door behind me and swings up behind the horses. The lights of Mayfair fade away as the carriage lurches into the traffic heading for Bond Street.

  “Where are you taking me?” I demand.

  “Somewhere we can talk,” Miss McCleethy says. “You are a very slippery girl to catch, Miss Doyle.”

  “What have you done to Nell Hawkins?” I ask.

  “Miss Hawkins is the least of my concerns at the moment. We must discuss the Temple.”

  Fowlson douses a handkerchief with liquid from a small bottle.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, the terror rising in my throat.

  “We can’t very well have you knowing how to find our hideawa
y,” Fowlson says.

  He looms over me. I fight back, turning my head left and right to avoid him, but he is too strong. The white of the handkerchief is all I can see as it floats lower, covering my nose and mouth at last. There is the inescapable, suffocating odor of ether. The last thing I see before succumbing to the darkness is Miss McCleethy popping a toffee into her mouth without a care in the world.

  I come to by degrees. First, there is the taste in my mouth, a foul, sulfurous thing that sits on my tongue and makes me gag. Then there is the blurred vision. I have to raise my arm to block the wobbly, dancing light. I’m in a dark room. Candles burn. Is there no one else? I can’t see anyone, but I’m aware of others. I can feel them in the room. There’s a rustling sound coming from the darkness above.

  Two masked men enter the room, escorting someone in a blindfold. They remove the blindfold. It’s Kartik! The other men back away, leaving us alone together.

  “Gemma,” he says.

  “Kartik,” I croak. My throat is dry. My voice cracks. “What are you doing here? Did they take you, too?”

  “Are you all right? Here, have some water,” he answers.

  I take a sip. “I’m so very sorry about what I said that day. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  He shakes his head. “It is forgotten. Are you certain you’re all right?”

  “You must help me. Fowlson and Miss McCleethy kidnapped me and brought me here. If she has his loyalty, then we cannot trust the Rakshana.”

  “Shhh, Gemma. No one brought me here against my will. Miss McCleethy is part of the Order. She’s working with the Rakshana to find the Temple and restore the Order to its full power. She’s come to help you.”

  I lower my voice to a whisper. “Kartik, you know that Miss McCleethy is Circe.”

  “Fowlson says she is not.”

  “How does he know? And how do you know that he has not been corrupted as well? How do you know that you can trust him?”

  “Miss McCleethy isn’t who you think she is. Her name is Sahirah Foster. She’s been on the hunt for Circe. She took the name McCleethy as a decoy, in hopes of calling the attention of the real Circe, as that was the name she took whilst she was at Saint Victoria’s.”

  “And you believe this story?” I say with a sneer.

  “Fowlson believes it.”

  “I’m certain Nell Hawkins could tell you differently. Don’t you see?” I beg. "She is Circe! She murdered those girls, Kartik. She murdered my mother and your brother! I won’t let her do the same to me.”

  “Gemma, you are mistaken.”

  He’s been taken in by her. I can no longer trust him.

  Miss McCleethy enters the room. Her long green cloak brushes the floor.

  “This has taken entirely too long, Miss Doyle. You will take me into the realms and I shall help you find the Temple. Then we shall bind the magic and restore the Order.”

  From above, a deep voice rings out. “With access to the realms and the magic granted at last to the Rakshana.” In the candlelight I can see only a masked face.

  “Yes, of course,” Miss McCleethy says.

  “I know all about you,” I say. “I wrote to Saint Victoria’s. I know what you did to Nell Hawkins and the other girls before her.”

  “You know nothing, Miss Doyle. You only think you do, and therein lies the problem.”

  “I know Mrs. Nightwing is your sister,” I announce triumphantly.

  Miss McCleethy looks surprised. “Lillian is a dear friend. I have no sister.”

  “You’re lying,” I say.

  The voice from above rings out. "Enough! It is time.”

  “I won’t take you in!” I yell to one and all.

  Fowlson grabs my arm roughly. "I’ve grown rather tired of your games, Miss Doyle. They’ve cost us too much time already.”

  “You can’t force me to do it,” I say.

  “Can’t I?”

  Miss McCleethy intervenes. “Mr. Fowlson. Allow me a moment with the girl, if you please.”

  She pulls me aside. Her deep voice is but a whisper. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ve no intention of letting the Rakshana have any say in the realms. I’m only placating them with a promise.”

  “After they’ve helped you, you’ll cut them off.”

  “Don’t fret too much over it.” She lowers her voice further. “They intended to take the realms for themselves. What words did they give you for binding the magic?”

  “I bind the magic in the name of the Eastern Star.”

  She smiles. “With those words, you give them the power of the Temple.”

  “Why should I believe you? Kartik told me—”

  “Kartik?” She sneers in disgust. “Pray, did he tell you what his task is?”

  “To help me find the Temple.”

  “Miss Doyle, you really are quite gullible. His task was to help you find the Temple so the Rakshana could take it over. Once they had all that power, do you really think they’d need anything further from you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’d be nothing more than an annoyance at that point. A liability. And that brings us to his true task: to kill you.”

  The room grows smaller. I feel I can’t breathe. "You’re lying.” “Am I? Why don’t you ask him? Oh, I don’t expect that he will tell you the truth. But watch him—watch his eyes. They won’t lie.”

  Do not forget your task, novitiate . . .

  Was it all a lie? Was any of it true?

  “So you see, my dear, we are stuck with each other after all.”

  I am too bitter to cry. My very blood is diseased with hate. “So it would seem,” I say, fury a coiled snake in my belly.

  “You possess extraordinary gifts, Gemma. Under my wing, you shall learn a great deal. But first, remember, you must bind the magic in the name of the Order.” Miss McCleethy smiles, and I am reminded of a serpent. “I have waited twenty years for this moment.”

  I will die first. "I have to know the truth,” I say.

  She nods. “Very well. Fowlson!” she calls out. Moments later, he enters with Kartik. Above us, the chamber fills. The floor is alive with the soft sounds of discreet footsteps. Then, all is still in the room except for the flickering candlelight.

  “Kartik,” I ask, and my voice bounces off the walls. It is a smaller room than I realized. “What was your task from the Rakshana? Not the one about finding the Temple,” I say, my voice filled with hate. “The other one.”

  “ The . . . other one?” he says, stumbling over his words.

  “Yes. Once I’d found the Temple. What was your task then?” I have never looked at anyone this way before, with a rage that could kill. And I have never seen Kartik frightened like this.

  He swallows hard. His eyes glance upward to the faceless men in the shadows.

  “Careful now, brother,” Fowlson whispers.

  “It was to help you find the Temple. There was no other,” Kartik says. But he does not look me in the eyes as he says it, and now I know. I know that he is lying. I know that his task is to kill me.

  “Liar,” I say. This forces him to look at me, and just as quickly, he looks away. "I’m ready.”

  “Very well,” Miss McCleethy says.

  I take hold of Miss McCleethy’s strong hands and close my eyes. It’s so easy to faint. Women do it all the time. They close their eyes and fall to the floor.

  “Ohhh,” I moan, and do just that.

  I am not as graceful as my friend Ann. Instead, I crumple forward, so that my hand is inches from my boot. My fingers find the hilt of the blade hidden in Megh Sambara. If ever I needed protection against my enemies, it is now.

  “What now?” Fowlson sighs.

  “She is masquerading,” Miss McCleethy says, kicking me. I do not move. "I tell you, it’s a deceit.”

  “Get her up!” the great voice booms out from above.

  Kartik hooks his arms under mine and lifts me up, carrying me to the door, which opens for us.

  �
��Fetch the salts,” Fowlson orders.

  “She’s bluffing,” Miss McCleethy snaps. “Don’t trust her for a moment.”

  I keep my eyes lightly closed, peeking through narrow slits to see where Kartik is taking me. We’re in a dim hall. From somewhere far above I hear men laughing, muffled talking. Is it a way out?

  My fingers hold fast to my totem. I push Kartik away and pull the blade, threatening everyone.

  “You won’t get away. You don’t know which door leads out,” Fowlson says.

  He’s right. I’m trapped. Fowlson and Jackson step closer. Miss McCleethy stands waiting, looking as if she could cheerfully eat me for supper.

  “No more of this foolishness, Miss Doyle. I am not your enemy.”

  Which door leads out? Kartik. I look to him. For a moment, he wavers. Then, his eyes travel to the door on my left. He gives a tiny nod, and I know he has betrayed them and shown me the way.

  “Wha’ are you abou’ over there, boy?” Jackson shouts.

  It is enough of a distraction that I am able to push through the door with Kartik on my heels. He shoves the door closed.

  “Gemma! The blade—hurry! Through the latch there!”

  I stick the blade through the iron latch, blocking the door. I can hear them banging and shouting on the other side. It will not hold forever; I can only hope it will hold long enough for us to get away.

  “This way,” Kartik says. We’ve come out onto a dark London street. Snowflakes mix with the black swirl of gaslit fog, making it hard to see very far. But there are other people out. I recognize this area. We’re not far from Pall Mall Square and the most exclusive men’s clubs of London. Those were the men’s voices I heard!

  “I’ll hold them off until you can get away,” Kartik says, breathless.

  “Wait! Kartik! You can’t go back,” I say. “You can’t ever go back.”

  Kartik bounces on his heels, his legs torn between standing here and running back, the way a child runs to his mother to say Sorry, sorry for what I did, now please forgive me. But the Rakshana are not forgiving. Kartik’s only just realizing what his rash act means. By helping me, he has thrown away any chance of joining them as a member in full. He has turned his back on the only family he knows. He is without patronage, without a home. He is alone, like me.